


Where We Finally Collide

by foxjar



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, Drama, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Reincarnation, Romance, Top Claude von Riegan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29010804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/pseuds/foxjar
Summary: Claude loves Lorenz in every lifetime he is cursed with. And in every lifetime, Lorenz refuses him in one way or another.Until finally, something snaps.In another life, Claude had kissed him here for all the roses to see. For the briefest moment, Claude's heart had soared; his fingers clutched Lorenz's shoulders, their lips fitting together, and for the first time, Claude thought that life would be different. For once, maybe Lorenz could put aside his duty to further his line, could cast off the prejudices his father had fostered within him.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Poetry Fiction prompt (Reginald Shepherd; Acmeist Night)](https://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/119175.html?thread=182663#cmt182663):
>
>> Devoted, I want to die  
> these brilliant days, blind nights echoing  
> insistent sun on skin. Season with ashes  
> in its mouth, the willows burning.
> 
> The underage warning is for a scene based a bit before Lorenz and Claude are at the monastery. 

No matter how many times Claude meets Lorenz in their seemingly endless amount of lifetimes, some things never change. Lorenz always has a fake rose pinned to his chest, his face always twisting with that smug grin of his.

They're both young, younger than ten as declared by the passage of time. But Claude's soul is ancient, older than time itself. It folds over upon itself again and again like a neverending piece of fabric, as golden as the cloak pinned to Claude's shoulders.

Being able to recall his past lives is both a curse and a boon to Claude. In theory, he should have learned from his mistakes through each iteration of his life: what to say, what to hold back; when to stay, when to leave. He has seen lands that he only dreamt of during his first life. The world is at his fingertips; the farthest countries are but a breath away when compared to the years Claude has waded through.

When it comes to Lorenz, he learned long ago that he should leave. Lorenz Hellman Gloucester is not a war Claude can win, not an enemy he is able to conquer with wit or might. They work best as comrades and nothing more, fighting for the same side but with differing goals.

Lorenz is just a boy now, devoid of any memory of Claude. All of their bickering, the times they fought side by side, the confessions, the rejections — gone. The time when Lorenz fell from his horse, his ankle a swollen mess of twisted flesh as he watched his horse gallop off in the midst of battle, is but a myth; and then there was Claude to lend him his arm, his strength through the long, agonizing war.

The memories are all still real to Claude. Despite being ancient history, they make him long for the impossible.

Claude bows to the young noble and Lorenz bows back, but not as deeply; he hasn't been declared heir yet, after all. He has yet to win Lorenz's respect.

Once introductions are made, the boys are shooed off so that Claude's grandfather can speak to Lorenz's father. Politics, trade routes, suspicions based on absurd rumors — all are on the table for discussion.

Lorenz is hesitant, eyeing Claude up and down, wondering if striking up an acquaintanceship with the Riegan noble could benefit him in some way. Somehow he always comes to the conclusion that yes, the potential Claude holds, even as a young child, is ripe with possibilities.

And thus Lorenz carts Claude off to the rose garden as their guardians discuss treaties and such; as much as Lorenz always tries to please his father by showing interest in political affairs, he still has yet to grasp the gravitas of it all. The boy who loves picking flowers for his mother and being swung around by his father lives in him still.

Their walk through the garden feels almost as long as it might take to stroll through the Officer Academy's sprawling lawn back at the monastery. Both places hold a million memories for Claude, but this rose garden is special because all of his memories here center around Lorenz: the silences they've shared, the truths unveiled, and the time Claude stepped too close to the sun.

In another life, Claude had kissed him here for all the roses to see. For the briefest moment, Claude's heart had soared; his fingers clutched Lorenz's shoulders, their lips fitting together, and for the first time, Claude thought that life would be different. For once, maybe Lorenz could put aside his duty to further his line, could cast off the prejudices his father had fostered within him.

But no, Claude just took Lorenz by surprise. Lorenz shoved Claude back, his hand wiping his lips, eyes wide with shock.

"How dare you?" Lorenz's body trembled, shaken to the core. Claude could have accepted Lorenz scoffing at him and haughtily turning from him, but this instance was something else. It was disgust. "You are never to touch me again, do you understand? You have no right, no right to —"

And Claude had kept his word — in that lifetime, at least. He likes to think he made Lorenz feel something that day, forcing something unbidden to the surface, but with how the wheel of time never seems to bring them closer, it's a fanciful dream.

That incident didn't make Claude despise roses, as he thought it might. Roses are prickly, much like Lorenz himself. If anything, he thinks the comparison is fitting. A reminder for him to tread carefully.

"What do you think?" the boy Lorenz asks, his chest puffed out with exaggerated pride. "Have you ever seen anything more marvelous?"

"No," Claude admits, his eyes not on the roses but on Lorenz, still bright with innocence and lacking those sharp-angled bangs he'll be ridiculed for behind his back in a few years. "Truly I have never seen anything more beautiful."

Lorenz eyes him warily, his elbow crooked and his hand raised in front of his chest, his fingers wriggling in contemplation like a spider's scuttling legs. Some habits never die. Some never truly leave us.

 _Is this Claude fellow taking me seriously?_ Lorenz might be wondering. _Or is the rascal attempting to slight me, slight House Gloucester, in some way?_

But no, Claude's response was earnest. He's traveled across the known world, from the barren deserts to the oceans that stretch endlessly across the horizon, but nothing affects him as Lorenz does. Nothing quite makes him feel at ease until he sees Lorenz's well-intentioned sneer, welcoming him back home after a lifetime away.

* * *

When Lorenz visits Claude, he always waits for a servant to relay the announcement of his arrival. They're both on the cusp of adulthood, and Lorenz is settling into his destined role nicely. Ever the dutiful noble, both in action and in spirit.

But Lorenz breaks the mold today as he greets him with a soft rapping at Claude's bedroom door, his chest heaving beneath his fake rose and gold-embroidered finery. Claude knows better than to assume something about this cycle has changed, but he can't deny himself a naive man's hopes. Lorenz coming to him like this is something new, something different; a breath of fresh air in his lungs.

"You have experience with women, do you not?" Lorenz asks, turning to face Claude once the door has clicked shut behind them. His foot taps the floor, his fingers curling in thought — that spidery gesture of his again.

Dread fills Claude, prickling his skin, his heart as heavy as stone.

_He's going to ask me how to woo some noblewoman. And I will try to answer as honestly as possible, because who else is willing to tell him not to brag about his lineage as he enters his future wife for the first time?_

_If a horrifying exclamation of "I will now bloat your belly with my noble seed" can be avoided, I'm sure his future wife would thank me if she could._

"I have had experience with many people," Claude says carefully.

 _More than you could ever imagine,_ he thinks, but Lorenz wouldn't be able to comprehend this, not truly.

Claude steers him over to the small table by the window, already laden with his breakfast and morning tea. He pushes stacks of books away from the table to make Lorenz more comfortable — no matter how many lifetimes Claude lives, there is always more information and literature for him to devour — but Lorenz doesn't remark on his untidiness this time.

"Cheeky, as expected of you." Lorenz's hand jitters as he holds his tea, the cup clattering against the saucer. Claude can't remember the last time he saw him this shaken up. "I cannot ask this of anyone else. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

"Out with it," Claude says, twirling a pastry, feigning disinterest. "Your secrets are safe with me."

Lorenz sets his tea down without taking a single drink. He hasn't even bothered sniffing it in that uppity way of his; if he had, he would've mentioned how it's his favorite tea. That earthy aroma, the mild citrus — had Lorenz ever told him what his favorite tea is? He must've, or else Claude just happens to have a similarly refined palate. In reality, it's another one of those details divulged to him in a past life by the man sitting across from him. One he'll never remember.

When Claude wants to remember Lorenz — the good, the bad, the ugly — he drinks bergamot tea.

"What does it feel like?" Lorenz finally asks, his voice barely above a whisper, so quiet that Claude has to lean over the table to make sure he's hearing him properly. "To lie with a woman?"

So this is it: Lorenz has succumbed at last. Claude wonders if he knows the girl. A noble, of course, but what kind of person is she? Does she drink tea with him, nodding her head as Lorenz spouts his usual sycophantic drivel? Or does she reach across the table, grasping Lorenz's hand and forcing him to look at her, to see her as he has never seen another person before?

Lorenz takes Claude's silence as a bad sign. He sets his teacup down, biting his lip as he tilts his chin up, determined to save whatever face he can manage. Claude isn't speechless because he's thinking ill of Lorenz — part of him will always want to be the one to reach out to Lorenz, to force him to see Claude for who he is and not for the scoundrel Count Gloucester makes him out to be — but the words stick in his throat. How could he explain to Lorenz that it's always like this, with Lorenz pulling back the short distance they'd managed to come together, his life beginning anew with a wife, a child, a family?

_I'm just sad._

"Nevermind," Lorenz says, tearing into Claude's silence as he stands up to leave. "Such a question is beyond inappropriate. I should not have asked."

Something must have driven Lorenz here to ask, some desperation — why ask Claude, of all people? — so he grabs his wrist to prevent his exit. His grip is tighter than he intended, but he relishes it; Claude can't remember the last time he touched Lorenz like this. He thinks back to when he promised to never touch him, but that was another lifetime, another world. That promise is null and void now.

"It feels indescribable," Claude says. Where to begin? The wonders of sex aren't something he can express with words. He tries to think of how to explain it truthfully, but he thinks about how he's always wanted Lorenz beneath him and on top of him, too. How would it feel to finally taste his body after all these years?

"How very helpful that is." Lorenz snorts derisively. "It was a mistake to ask. I will take my leave, then —"

Lorenz tears his wrist away, but Claude grabs the back of his shirt. Desperation shifts through the room in waves.

"It's tight," Claude explains. "Hot. Have you ever touched yourself, Lorenz? It is like that and so much more."

The way Lorenz stiffens piques Claude's interest. He straightens his back and turns back toward the door. If Claude could see his face, he imagines his cheeks would be flushed with color.

"Do you really not touch yourself, Lorenz?"

"I — I try not to."

Lorenz peeks over his shoulder, but only for a moment.

"Why would you deny yourself such pleasure?" Claude asks, leaning forward in his chair. His elbows rest on his knees, his fingers steepled; he doesn't need to hold Lorenz back, not anymore.

"That 'pleasure' is not for me to so selfishly give myself; it is for me to experience with my future wife."

Is this something Lorenz's father told him? Or the church? Claude hates the way Lorenz lets such preconceived notions dictate his life, but it's part of what draws Claude in, too: his sheer loyalty, albeit misplaced.

"And what if someone else offered you that pleasure?" Claude asks, teetering too close to the sun yet again. "In the interim, of course. Your future wife would never have to know."

When Lorenz faces him again, whatever flush might've been on his face is gone. His expression is angry, his thin brows furrowed.

"I will not sleep with you, Claude. The mere implication is insulting to me, to my House, to my wife —"

Claude loses count of how many times he's interrupted Lorenz today, but he seems to be on a roll. The way Lorenz's eyes widen, shocked at his gall, is always worth it.

"I wasn't asking you to," Claude says. Although he wishes he could ask without a repeat of the time Lorenz made him swear to never touch him. "And besides, you won't be married for many years yet. I'm simply offering you release."

"With — with your hand?"

"Or my mouth, if you'd prefer."

Lorenz steps back, eyes wide. "Such vulgarities! Lewdness! What do you imagine the Goddess would think, hearing this exchange?"

"I like to think the Goddess refrains from sneaking into my bedroom," Claude says dryly.

_Especially when I have beautiful visitors like you — or when I'm thinking of them._

"And besides," he continues, "the better you know yourself, the better you can help your wife make you feel good. You'll learn a million new things together about your bodies, but wouldn't you rather have some background information heading in? Think of it as noble research."

Voicing these thoughts hurts more than Claude thought they would. If Lorenz turns from him now, he won't pull him back. He is ravenous, but he won't pressure him; he is merely dipping his toes into the realm of possibility. And being able to hold Lorenz for a few hours would be worth it in the end, would it not?

Claude clenches his fist. No, he knows better than that, but Lorenz is nodding his head in contemplation before his doubts can fester.

"I can see your point of view. It would be wondrous if my wife could show me how to please her best, so it would be reasonable for me to accommodate her, as well."

"Something tells me that's the dirtiest talk I'll manage to wring out of you." Claude tries to laugh, but it sounds so hollow. He wonders if Lorenz can see that his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

His hand is on Lorenz's shoulder now, steering him toward the bed. Lorenz turns, his eyes still full of surprise.

"Here, you mean? Right now?"

"Unless you have other pressing matters to attend to," Claude says, and at this, Lorenz is finally quiet. He pulls back the blankets on his bed and gestures for Lorenz to lie down, and when he does he lies so straight, so stiff. His hands are clasped together above his stomach as his eyes dart around the room, the only movement to give away the fact that he's not a corpse on display for a funeral rite. But as with many of Lorenz's quirks, Claude finds it charming. He climbs into bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath his weight, and then there is silence.

"Is there anything I can do to help ease you into the mood?" he asks, reaching out to Lorenz but not touching him just yet. It's teasing, in a way; he's wanted this for so long. His stomach twists in knots as he stares at Lorenz: his nervous eyes, his fluttery fingers, those angled violet bangs that look like they were cut with a pair of garden shears.

"If I knew that," Lorenz snaps, "I wouldn't be here, now would I?"

"Relax. I'm trying to help. Just let me know if anything is too much for you, all right?"

Claude touches his thigh first, making Lorenz jump. He whispers what he hopes are calming words, telling him to relax, to focus on his body, and it takes a while for Lorenz to stop retorting with unhelpful quips. His chest rises and falls as Claude runs his hand up along his outer thigh, then closer to the ties on his pants.

It would be too much of a gamble to chance a kiss, but Claude imagines it in his head: how it would feel, how Lorenz wouldn't pull away, how it'd be like letting out a breath he's held for eons. It'd only last a moment, but at least some of his yearning could finally be quenched.

The laces on Lorenz's pants are tied in an obnoxious bow tucked beneath his shirt, but Claude makes quick work of them. Lorenz sucks in a breath when Claude's hand brushes over him, his cock soft and warm. He's so sensitive; Claude wants to soak in every moment, every expression, every little hitch of breath.

Will he remember this day as Claude will, plaguing him for the rest of time? He wraps his fingers around him, coaxing Lorenz to arousal; every time his hips lift up off the bed, Claude wants to ruin him in the worst ways. He licks his lips and he can almost taste Lorenz's bitterness, the innocence seeping out of him as he sweats.

"Are you sure this is what my noble wife will do?" Lorenz's voice is a gasping mess, and Claude looks up at his face, amazed at his lack of resistance. It's almost like he has forgotten whose hand it is on him — the man he abhors, the man he was raised to be wary of — but then Lorenz meets his gaze, and Claude's name is upon his lips.

He has not forgotten.

"Tell me what feels good," Claude says. Lorenz is half-hard in his hand, springing to life beneath his touch.

"I don't — I cannot say such things."

"You can," Claude urges. He tightens his grip around the head of Lorenz's cock, jerking him faster. "This? Does this feel good?"

Finally Lorenz gasps a soft "yes." Elation courses through Claude at the fact that he's able to unwind Lorenz like this, to bring him to such a state. He watches Lorenz's face, his bangs stuck to his face, and when Lorenz opens his eyes, Claude doesn't look away.

If only this moment could last forever, he thinks; if only he could preserve it for the rest of time.

The tip of Lorenz's cock is wet with pre-come, and the wet sounds as Claude strokes him faster make him want to rock his hips against Lorenz's thigh, but he refrains. He can still feel the way Lorenz trembles, his body shuddering as he reaches out to pull at the bedsheets.

"That," Lorenz says, "feels exquisite. Near the tip is the most sensitive, but all of it — your hand..."

His grip on the sheets loosens as he trails off, unable to convey his thoughts. Claude's surprised he managed to say anything at all, the words a wondrous symphony to his ears.

"Why do you watch me as a predator eyes its prey?" Lorenz asks. Maybe Claude is staring too much, his wrist slowing down in distraction, but Lorenz is still hard, the tip of him even wetter than before. His cock is long in Claude's hand, curving ever so slightly toward his stomach — how is he supposed to look away when he finally has him right where he wants him?

"Maybe this is something you like," Claude says, his own arousal pressing against Lorenz's thigh. "Eye contact. Is it being watched that does it for you?"

"Were you not listening? I said —"

Claude leans in, their breaths mingling. He could kiss him, steal his breath. Would Lorenz push him away? He's so close to finding out, so close to making the same mistake again, when Lorenz gasps.

"More of that," he says. "Please."

Lorenz clutches the front of Claude's shirt, tugging. It's both right and blissfully wrong as Claude crawls atop Lorenz's hips, the silence thick between them. He wonders how he got so lucky, what he might've done in a past life to deserve this, as he unties the front of his pants, his arousal finally free of its confinement. Claude holds Lorenz's gaze as he strokes them together, hips clashing as they rock together.

The buttons on Claude's shirt slip open as Lorenz tugs at him, his hand slipping inside, sliding over wisps of chest hair. Any moment this could be over; Lorenz could push him away and he would be left with the bittersweet memories alone. Their cocks move together, and every time their shafts rub together, Claude sucks in a breath. Below him, Lorenz pants as his eyes nearly shut, his hand still on Claude's skin. The deepest intimacy Lorenz has ever given him, to not only accept his touch but to reach for him, to want him near.

No one else, Claude hopes. No one but himself to touch Lorenz this way, but it isn't his place to demand such a thing.

Lorenz moans, both his hands pulling at Claude's shirt, the bed dipping as they fall together.

"Do you wish to stop?" Claude asks, but Lorenz shakes his head.

"No. I merely needed something to hold onto," Lorenz says. The way he looks up at Claude — like he is the only one who matters, the only one he could trust to touch him in such indecent ways — is everything to him.

Claude can't comprehend how Lorenz held in his lust for so long. How has he resisted the urge to fuck when it has been so clearly plaguing him? Even his own fist wasn't an option for him. Claude imagines Lorenz rutting against his pillow as he lies in bed, clothed in nothing but a billowing nightshirt. He curls around the pillow as he rocks his hips, succumbing to his arousal for the first time, his movements jittery and unsure.

When Claude presses their foreheads together, damp with sweat, he's thinking about kissing Lorenz again. He can't — he won't — but that doesn't stop his racing heart. That same mistake will not be repeated. He won't let himself lose Lorenz like that again.

But Lorenz loses himself as he tries to hold back his gasps, his breaths uneven as he finally comes, dirtying his chest and Claude's hand. His hips shake; his tongue darts across his lips; and all the while, his eyes are half-lidded, peering up at Claude with a mix of not only his usual apprehension but lust, too.

A man torn. Claude just hopes he helped ease some of his worries.

Lorenz's release is thick on his fingers, opaque and mesmerizing. Claude wraps his sullied hand around himself again, feeling Lorenz's come cooling on his skin as he jerks himself, staring into his eyes before finally spilling onto his chest. His chest pounds, as sure as a drum; his muscles tense as his body winds up, and then the relief hits him in coiling waves.

Between them, Claude's braid sways, a flicker of brown at the corner of his vision. Lorenz reaches for it, the tip of his finger touching it with such tenderness before his arm drops to his side.

Outside, the sun is still bright. The tea from breakfast has grown cold; Claude tilts the cup toward his lips and tastes nothing but the chill of his neverending desire. Claude's room looks the same, but he knows it will never feel that way. This is the first place where Lorenz let him touch him so intimately — and perhaps it will be the last place.

Lorenz dresses with as much stiffness as Claude expects of him, their eyes no longer meeting, no longer drawn to one another as a fox is drawn to bait at twilight.

_This can't happen again, right?_

But the words never come, and Claude is left to cling to hope.

"Thank you," is all Lorenz says — his arms flat against his sides, his back turned — before leaving.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: canon-typical violence/injuries (not graphic), mention of a death canonical to Golden Deer route, a minor reference to/joke about pregnancy.
> 
> The sex scene might kind of veer into comeplay and/or wet and messy (Claude gets a little ahead of himself. He deserves it, as a treat).

Claude didn't love Lorenz when they met for the first time a thousand lifetimes ago. It wasn't love at first sight. Claude isn't sure he's willing to credit fate with such an anomaly, but sometimes two people really are meant to be in each other's lives for whatever reason, like the loyalty Dimitri inspires in Dedue. Or even the way Edelgard and Dimitri always seem to find themselves on such varying paths, clawing their way toward each other in the end.

But Lorenz is neither attracted to nor repulsed by Claude's repeated existence. Their relationship is an awkward dance of skirting around each other, despite their sworn allegiance.

As sure as the rising sun, Lorenz's father always instills suspicion in his son: _Watch Claude. Be wary of his goals, his motivations. Be wary of him. He is not like us. He is not who he claims to be._

Lorenz's father is right, in some ways. Claude is different. He wants change and unification when most of the nobles in power want nothing more than complacency. For the world to remain as it is and, in Count Gloucester's case, with a little more wealth and influence in his hands each passing year.

But there's always that unique joy, that ripple of excitement in Claude's chest, when he first sees Lorenz peering at him from around the corner. Sometimes it's when his family is visiting Claude's grandfather, sometimes when Claude is visiting the Gloucesters, or even at the monastery. Lorenz is still young at this point, his head swimming with his flowery ideals of what the nobility should be, when Claude first watches him like this. His father must not have taught him the finer points of espionage, not yet. But soon.

Soon Lorenz's veins will be infected with distrust and jealousy of Claude, too. Just like his father. It's something Claude has never been able to prevent, this shaky foundation to their relationship.

Claude and Lorenz seem to be destined for something together, after all. He just doesn't know the extent of it.

One day, things change. War creeps upon them, but this time is different. Time continues its eternal spin, but Lorenz Hellman Gloucester finally snaps back.

Lorenz chooses to fight for another: the Empire over the Leicester Alliance, the land of his family and home. His absence is a hole in Claude's chest, the seat beside him at war councils remaining empty at his insistence. He's always appreciated Lorenz's loyalty, but where has that false sense of security gotten him? One less person in his army that he trusts. One less person he'd lay his life down for.

Unbeknownst to his allies, the same question twists around in his head again and again: why? What changed? Lorenz has never willingly betrayed him like this before.

What could have possibly changed in this lifetime for Lorenz to turn against him?

For the first time, Lorenz is not beside Claude, preparing to ride into battle. He is not sitting astride his horse, squinting against the horizon to study the movements of the enemy; he is not in his mage robes, the sleeves droopy as he twists and turns his hands to cast the most destructive forms of magic known to humankind.

No, Lorenz is somewhere out there midst the lumbering bodies and smoke.

Claude instructs his troops not to harm Lorenz. The Gloucester noble is to be captured alive. A few cries declaring Lorenz a traitor to the Leicester Alliance rise up, but Claude silences them with his order to move out. They will win this battle. They will live to see another day.

What he'll do about Lorenz, Claude has yet to decide.

The valley is scorching, the smoldering pools of lava like veins cut through the earth. Claude climbs up into his wyvern's saddle and takes to the sky, searching for a smear of violet.

_Why now? What caused him to change his mind?_

Edelgard is a clever commander, anticipating many of Claude's moves even as he sleuths out hers. He knows many of her maneuvers better than she knows them herself, but she still manages to slip him up at times; he can't always stop the fighting before it begins. And now, with Lorenz turning sides, Claude truly is flummoxed. He's determined to win this war again, but what will become of Lorenz?

When Claude finally sees him on his horse, he slowly starts to swoop in, pulling an arrow from his quiver. Lorenz's purple armor is splashed red with the blood of the Alliance's troops; a tight pain squeezes Claude's chest, stealing his breath. There's something akin to disgust in Lorenz's gaze when their eyes finally meet, and when Lorenz sees Claude's arrow ready to fly, he wants to shake his head.

_This arrow is not for you. This is for anyone who would do you harm._

But even if Claude shouts, Lorenz won't be able to hear him over the flapping of his wyvern's wings, the thunk of swords slamming into armor all around them. Seeing Lorenz like this, fighting for the enemy, makes Claude wonder if he ever knew the man at all. How many people will both sides lose, and is Edelgard's quest to eradicate the Church that important to Lorenz?

As the battle rages on, there Lorenz remains, a single flower midst a field of thorns. The talons of Claude's wyvern dig into the earth as they land, shredding the rock as easily as a human might crumple parchment. He pats her neck as she stills her wings, crouching closer to the ground so that her rider can step down.

Lorenz dismounts his horse; Claude hops off his wyvern. They're on equal footing now, and while Claude has no idea why Lorenz is providing him this opening, he shouts across the chasm that lies between them, as infinite as the depthless sea.

"Why?"

The distance between them closes, and Claude can almost smell roses in the air. He watches Lorenz's hands, twisting in that wily way of his, prepared to kill. Claude lowers his bow, but keeps an arrow ready. He doesn't want Lorenz to realize that he isn't willing to end his life.

"You have done nothing," Lorenz calls out to him. "It was in your power to enact change, and yet you did nothing!"

"What would you have me do? Should I have assassinated my grandfather so I could have led the Alliance earlier?" Claude shakes his head, thinking of all the moments Lorenz has fought by his side, in this life and in every life; of all the times Claude, alone in his room, has dreamt of more; of the single time Claude held him in his arms, never to be repeated. "I have done everything."

Lorenz laughs, high and mocking, as he gestures all around them to the fighting, the clashing of swords, the sounds of lances ripping through flesh. "Is this what you call everything?"

In a way, Lorenz is right. Claude could have killed Edelgard; he could have strangled the life out of her, poisoned her, hired someone to end her before any of this had begun. With his knowledge he could have killed her, but he's always wanted something more, to use his wits to outmaneuver her, to stop her before she begins her war. He'd gotten so good at it, too, but somewhere along the way he slipped up.

Claude has failed Almyra, Fódlan, himself — and Lorenz.

His smile is sad, broken. "You've changed, Lorenz. Once, you would've followed me anywhere."

"It is not I who has changed," Lorenz calls out, and again, there is truth to his accusation.

They've both changed.

Claude snaps up his bow and lets his arrow fly, slicing Lorenz's unprotected thigh enough to throw him off balance. He rolls to the side, his armored knees carving out bits of rock, as Lorenz's leg collapses beneath him, his hands attempting to hit Claude with a burst of Fire. But Claude closes the final few meters and then his hands are around Lorenz's neck, choking him as the world must think he should've snuffed out Edelgard.

Beneath Claude's fingers, Lorenz's pulse thrums wildly. His grip is loose, so loose, and he would've already been dead if Lorenz wanted to kill him. In that, at least, they share an understanding.

"What did she promise you?" Claude asks. "More land, influence? The wife of your dreams?"

"Nothing, if you can believe it." Lorenz is limp in his arms, his voice defiant but his body submissive. At any moment he could push him away, and what would happen if Claude were to perish here? Would his consciousness finally fade, or would he be forced into the next cycle?

"Your father, then," Claude says, and from the way Lorenz grimaces, he knows he's right. Once this might've been the most wondrous place for Claude to be, perched above Lorenz with him at his mercy.

In an instant, everything has changed.

Claude stands, offering Lorenz his hand. "Do you trust me?"

Lorenz's gauntlets meet Claude's gloved palm, allowing himself to be pulled up. The rebirth of unity. The Alliance will protest, but they'll have their answers — after Claude bombards Lorenz with his own inquiries.

"My trust in you never ceased," Lorenz says. "Can you stop her mad plight?"

And together they move mountains, topple empires. For the first time in what seems like years, Claude feels that he's back on track.

* * *

"We need to talk," Claude says, unfastening his red-stained cloak, gripping the blood of the fallen in his hands. "About a great many things, I think."

It's been years since he and Lorenz were last alone in his room like this. But this time there's no tea waiting on the table, no request for advice to help bridge the distance between them. Claude looks around the room, wondering where to set his cloak, when Lorenz makes the decision for him. He snatches the sullied fabric from his hands, tossing it toward the nightstand. Then the sharp nails of Lorenz's gauntlets are digging into Claude's scalp, the most wondrous pain as he pulls him up into a kiss.

The first, but not the last. Claude can taste the desperation as Lorenz crushes their bodies together; his own hands slide against Lorenz's armor, wanting to dip into any crevice to feel his skin.

"Edelgard and my father swore they would kill you if I did not comply," Lorenz says when they pull apart, their eyes finally on the same wavelength as Claude has always dreamt.

"We will deal with your father as we have Edelgard — preferably with less death. Threats to my life are nothing new."

Lorenz shakes his head, sadness pooling in his eyes, and Claude can't help but cup his cheek. "It was not a threat; it was a promise. You do not know my father as I do."

In all the lifetimes Claude can recall, Count Gloucester has never been this aggressive. Power-hungry always, but never this ambitious.

"He aims to crush you. Riding Edelgard's coattails was supposed to help him rise in station," Lorenz continues. "He sees you as a threat to his aspirations, as well as his —"

Flush creeps onto Lorenz's face, his cheek hot beneath Claude's hand.

"As well as his House," Lorenz says.

The corner of Claude's lips twitch, threatening to curl into a knowing smirk. "I will not harm House Gloucester, you have my word on that. Your lands, your wealth — all will remain in your hands."

"Do not make me say it." Lorenz turns from him, pulling off his gauntlets and starting to unfasten his armor. He looks vulnerable in just his shirt and pants, no longer cocooned by plate. So human. "I cannot carry an heir and, I presume, neither can you."

"Would you like to carry my heir, if you could?" Claude's hands are on Lorenz's back, feeling the slopes of his shoulder blades. Lorenz tenses beneath him; he'll stop teasing him for now, if only to finally hear the confession he's always longed for. "How long has your father known?"

Their thighs touch when they sit on Claude's bed together, knees bumping. Sunset dims the room; soon Claude will have to light a candle if he wants to keep looking at Lorenz's face, but something tells him the last thing Lorenz wants right now is to be seen too clearly.

"I believe longer than even myself, in truth." Lorenz twists his hands so awkwardly in his lap that Claude reaches out to steady them with his own.

"And when was it you realized?"

Claude's lips are on his neck, the smell of sweat and flowery soap in the air. He can wait a while longer. He has waited so very long.

"Now you are just taunting me," Lorenz says, halfheartedly shifting from Claude but never enough to break away. "Trying to force me to confess to indecent thoughts."

Lorenz trembles beneath his lips. Everything feels so real and yet fake at the same time; Claude is numb and yet he is bursting with life.

"No, I just want to know when you realized you loved me," Claude says, his fingers touching Lorenz's throat again, but this time all he wants is to feel his skin, the wild pulse beneath his fingertips. "For I have loved you for a very long time."

Claude almost laughs when Lorenz sucks in a breath. How long has he dreamt of this same scenario, wanting to be closer to the man he was taught to revile?

"That time in your room," Lorenz says. "I was supposed to be thinking of my future wife, but even when I closed my eyes, all I could see was you."

When Claude pulls open the first lace on his shirt, Lorenz doesn't refuse him, doesn't push him or tell him to stop. Claude's hand dips inside and he feels the tautness of his collarbone, the body he never thought he'd know again, not like this.

"You don't know how happy that makes me," Claude says, easing him back onto the bed, Lorenz's hair a splay of violet upon his pillow. "I don't think you ever could."

But then Lorenz clutches his head, eyes squeezing shut. He shakes his head as if to will off some untoward thought, and Claude doesn't know what to do other than hold him, to remind him he's still here. He's not alone.

"I know things that I should not," Lorenz says, still shaking as Claude brushes his hair with his fingers.

"Like what? Tell me."

Their eyes meet, and while there isn't hatred on Lorenz's face, there is confusion: the furrow of his thin brows, the uncertainty as he bites his lip.

"You could have stopped her — Edelgard. Why did you not? Somehow I know this; the visions come to me, and then there is an agonizing ache in my head as a million possibilities flash before my eyes."

Despite his frustration, Lorenz still lets Claude kiss him. Some part of his psyche has weakened — whatever part that holds back the memories from all his past lives. Claude is losing him again; Lorenz will hate him, push him away, all because of the jumbled thoughts he can't make sense of.

And thus Claude embraces him, his hands tearing Lorenz's shirt off the rest of the way, his fingers tickling down his chest. He will live for the here and now, for the Lorenz laid before him. He will savor every inch of him until the end.

Claude's heart is ancient. Tired. Worn down in the worst way. But Lorenz still wraps his arms around him, easing their bodies together as if they were meant to be.

"I wish I could help you understand that no two lives are the same," Claude says. He kisses down Lorenz's chest, stopping just above the waistband of his pants, his lips hovering dangerously over his arousal as he unties the laces. "I wish I could take you with me."

_To the next life, to the world beyond this one._

"More of your mind games," Lorenz mutters. "Do you ever speak plainly?"

But then the rest of his complaints die as Claude swallows around him, taking as much of Lorenz's cock into his mouth as he can. The violet hairs at the base of his arousal tickle Claude's nose, short and soft. He tastes bitter — a mix of skin and sweat and leather. Lorenz rocks his hips up into his mouth, unable to repress the tremors that pass through him.

Claude wouldn't want it any other way. Anything Lorenz is willing to give, he is ready to take. It's been so long, so very long. He is floating; he is falling, crashing back down to earth.

Lorenz grabs his hair when Claude sucks at the tip, his tongue teasing him, feeling the shape of him, the taste of his pre-come. He dips his tongue into the slit, his thumb stroking the veins along the shaft of Lorenz's cock, skin smooth like velvet.

"Don't make me beg." Lorenz's fingers thread through his hair, tugging him up so that only Claude's lips still touch him, smeared with pre-come. It is pain; it is bliss.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Claude lies. He's dreamt of it a thousand times before — and how could he refrain from fantasizing about it again after tonight? But he acquiesces to the request, sitting up so that he can rummage for the oil he keeps in his nightstand.

Somehow his hands don't shake. He dips his fingers into the oil before curling them into Lorenz, his body resisting even as he attempts to relax, to breathe.

Again he kisses Lorenz — the lips he is finally allowed to touch, but for how long? Lorenz's hand trails down his back, pulling at his shirt, greedy for skin on skin.

"You feel amazing," Claude says; Lorenz's body is warm, resistant. He curls his fingers in even deeper, making Lorenz's hips rock toward him.

"Don't be obscene." Lorenz's hand is on Claude's now bare skin, his shirt pushed over his shoulders. His fingers are a fan pressing against his chest hair, his heart beating wildly beneath his touch. "You aren't even inside me yet."

Lorenz fell for that bait too easily.

"But I will be soon," Claude says.

He isn't naive enough to think this camaraderie can last, a union of souls to pass through the ages together. Forever. But that doesn't stop him from pulling off the rest of their clothes and easing his arousal between Lorenz's legs, thoroughly teased and wet with oil.

When Claude finally enters him, Lorenz gasps, hooking his long legs around his hips. Lorenz squeezes his eyes shut as Claude touches his thighs, firm with muscle but still soft, holding onto him for dear life. The thigh Claude hit with his arrow is wrapped in bandages. No blood has seeped through but the healer told him it would scar, with Claude's mark upon his skin to forever remind them of how close they were to the brink.

It's only when Claude starts to move, finally fucking him as he's always wanted to, that Lorenz opens his eyes. He's tight, hot; gripping him in all the right places. Every time Claude eases out of him, just the tip of his cock still inside, he refuses to believe this will be the last time. He will fight for this: for Lorenz, his contrary taunts, the breathlessness of both their fighting and lovemaking.

It is beautiful but bittersweet. Claude will remember this forever, playing back all of the sounds Lorenz makes; the shakiness of his hips; the deepness of his stare; his violet hair plastered to the pillow. This will be their only life together, despite Claude possessing the gift of eternity, and he's determined to make the most of it.

Lorenz's nails scratch down his back, leaving aching welts behind. Pain is pleasure. Claude sucks on Lorenz's neck, his tongue tracing his pulse, the sharpness of his jaw. Every scrape against his skin is a mercy; it is Lorenz's name carved into his back in a language only they know.

When Claude pulls Lorenz into his lap, his back against the cool wall, Lorenz digs his nails into his shoulders. He has to crane his neck to look down at Claude, to kiss him as their bodies rock together. It's a dream come true in so many ways: Lorenz beneath him, now above him.

Claude smiles into his lips, his fingers running through sweat-dampened purple hair; a hundred lewd phrases tease his tongue, but he utters not a single one. His smile finally reaches his eyes as Lorenz clings to him, his feet slipping between the bed and the wall as he uses Claude's shoulders for leverage, rising up and up until he fucks himself back down onto his cock. Again and again their hips move together, skin slapping as Claude finds home in his arms.

Home is bergamot tea; the smell of roses; bickering with Lorenz until he snarls; and finally lying down to sleep, to pass on, knowing he'll see it all again in the next life.

They rock together as Claude focuses on wrapping his hand around Lorenz's cock, his thumb teasing the slit. Lorenz bears his neck to him, tossing his head back, obscenities never passing his lips, but Claude can taste their closeness. The back of Claude's head presses against the hard wall, the dull ache a constant reminder that this is no dream. His free hand snakes around Lorenz's back, pulling him closer, wanting to taste the mouth always so determined to undermine him.

Lorenz's body is a heat he has never known, a mesh of love and pleasure. Every time he lifts his hips, Claude's hands are there to bring him back down, the tightness of him too impossible to ignore. Strands of violet hair catch in his mouth when Lorenz curls his body against his, and every time, Claude wants to laugh, wants to tell him how much he loves him.

This is what life should be, he thinks. No more wars to fight, only a time of mending. And Lorenz in his arms, his long hair both a beauty and a nuisance, just like the man himself.

Claude fights his orgasm even as he feels Lorenz spill onto his chest, shuddering and moaning and gripping him tighter than ever before. He squeezes his thighs and lifts Lorenz up and down onto his cock faster, faster, until he's begging Claude — but for what, he doesn't know.

"Please," Lorenz says. "Please, I —"

Clutching Lorenz's hips with his hands, wet with come, Claude holds him in his lap as he moves to the edge of the bed. Lorenz wraps his legs around Claude's waist, his hands around the back of his neck. Then Lorenz is half midair, half in his lap; the only things keeping him from toppling to the floor are Claude's hands.

He won't let him go. He won't ever let him fall. Lorenz moans as he fucks him, bringing him onto his cock over and over, plunging his hips forward with each thrust.

Claude will keep him afloat. Now, and until the end. He tries to kiss him without sending them both tumbling off the bed, but it's Lorenz who closes the distance, pulling himself closer. His nails press into the back of Claude's neck, their lips meeting in a rush. Lorenz's legs squeeze his waist, then his ass is tightening around Claude's cock, finally bringing him over the edge.

It is as amazing as he always dreamt and more, the pleasure coursing through every part of him, hitting a peak at the base of his cock and then he's coming, filling Lorenz. He falls back onto the bed, bringing Lorenz with him but lifting him up as he orgasms so that he can see his spend inside him, dripping onto the sheets. His touch is featherlight, smearing his come along Lorenz's thighs.

Claude's heart thumps inside his chest, as wild as a wyvern in flight, and he laughs. Such joy to hold Lorenz in his arms. Such peace.

Lorenz touches Claude's lips with his thumb, fingers cascading along his stubbled jaw.

 _At long last,_ they might both say. If only they knew.

It takes immense restraint for Claude to let Lorenz slip out of his arms, to see him turn away as he pulls on his clothes. He bends over to tug up his pants, Claude's come drying on his thighs, before turning back.

"Why do you look so sad?" Lorenz asks, his lips threatening a smirk, some mocking remark on his tongue. But then his eyes widen as he realizes Claude isn't playing around, isn't moping for comedic effect. It's not one of his schemes, all to lure Lorenz back into bed.

So many of Claude's memories of Lorenz flash before his eyes. All the times he's wanted to reach out, all the times they've argued, all the times Lorenz has found love in another.

It's just too soon, too raw. He can't lose him, not yet.

"Stay with me," Claude says, offering his hand to Lorenz. "Please."

"I was just going to clean up. I am not leaving you."

But Lorenz still crawls back into bed with him, still wraps his arms around Claude when he buries his face against Lorenz's chest and breathes him in.

"Just stay," he says. "For a while longer."

When Claude falls asleep, his rest is dreamless. The abyss is dark and endless, but it is not empty.

 _How strange,_ he thinks. _To be all alone in the world, and yet able to find comfort like this._

The room is bright when he wakes up, sunlight streaming through the window. His body is warm, relaxed; Lorenz stayed. Claude's head lies in Lorenz's lap as fingers brush through his hair, almost lulling him back to sleep.

It's Lorenz's voice that snaps him out of his stupor, has Claude's heart racing yet again.

"You kissed me by the rose bushes once," Lorenz says, his words careful. Curious.

"That I did."

Lorenz laughs. "I was furious."

"Is this your attempt at an apology?" Claude rises from his lap to see Lorenz staring out the window before turning his eyes toward him, snapping him in his gaze, just as he's always wanted. "If so, it's not very well thought out."

"How can I apologize for something I can barely recall, something I wasn't entirely there for, as you were —"

Claude tries to silence him with a morning kiss, but Lorenz pushes him away.

"Let me finish, you scheming rascal," Lorenz snaps, his hands on Claude's shoulders, squeezing with frustration. "It pains me to think I pushed you away like that. It pains me to think of all the lives I have wasted, and I am genuinely sorry. Now kiss me like you mean it, as if you have loved me for a thousand years."

And Claude has indeed loved Lorenz for a thousand years, so he kisses him with everything he has. Every ounce of pain and longing courses through him, every day, every year; immortality is pain, but it is no longer lonely.

Eternity lies bright and open before them, as wondrous as a rose garden in full bloom.

**Author's Note:**

> ...And so the fox finally fell in love with the fawn.
> 
> [My poll about claurenz top/bottom preferences ended, but you can see the results here!](https://twitter.com/foxjars/status/1359275705352167425?s=20) Spaghetti received a respectable 11.1% of votes.
> 
> This story got longer than expected, so here it is for Poetry Fiction's amnesty!
> 
> One of the first fic ideas that occurred to me for Three Houses was a sort of one-sided reincarnation deal: one character pines in quiet, remembering each of their lives while their love interest does not. Then I was slinking around claurenz playlists and heard ["Collide" by Sleeping Wolf](https://youtu.be/VlyCbGpEuSs) (on [this Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0aAwTuKUqauL28GiNO3LEA)), then my head just swam with ideas. The story title is from the song, too. Still one of my favorite songs for the ship!


End file.
